To Boldly Go
by DalekQueen7
Summary: The Enterprise's crew gets to know their captain better as his secrets slowly come to light. No slash, some dark themes, occurs before ID.
1. Prologue

**Since this is a fanfiction site, I see no need for a disclaimer. The whole site is basically one big disclaimer. However, see my profile if you really want one. **

**I do use a lot of big words, but it is just the way I think. I often get tired of dumbing down my vocabulary when I speak, so the excess kind of oozes out into my writing. You could complain… but it wouldn't change anything. *smile***

**On the subject of this particular fic: as always, no slash. It will be a bit dark, but nothing explicitly explicit, and no OOC-ness. Full line breaks signify significant time or distance skips, while partial line breaks ("~~~") signify smaller skips. Comments are appreciated, preferably with minimum cursing. From this point on, author's notes will be located at the bottom of chapters. **

* * *

It had been five months since a group of grief-stricken Romulans attacked the planet Vulcan. Five months since most of Starfleet's functional vessels were destroyed in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the Romulans from committing genocide. And five months since a ragtag band of outcasts managed to prevent the Enterprise's destruction, rescue its kidnapped captain, and destroy the enemy vessel.

After narrowly escaping their personal black hole, the Enterprise had limped to the nearest Starfleet station. While the impromptu command staff had intended to stop just long enough for repairs that would allow them to continue on to Earth, after inventorying the damage, a very vocal Scotty was backed up by the station's engineers when he said something along the lines of "_Oh, sure, ye could set off to Earth tomorrow. 'Specially if ye fancy havin' a picnic in the vacuum o' space after the ship falls apar' around ye. I hear it's lovely this time o' year._"

This effectively dispelled any further complaints.

Beyond the hull fractures and other immediately-obvious damage, the list of necessary repairs included several thousand meters of collapsed Jefferies tubes, life support on nearly a dozen decks, crushed generators in Engineering, severely damaged shuttlecraft that had wreaked havoc sliding around in the cargo bays, and wiring, piping, and panelling throughout the ship.

In addition to the ship's needs, the crew of the Enterprise and their hosts at the station also had to deal with the added burden of the Vulcan refugees, all of whom needed not only food and shelter but also quiet places to meditate. Upon reaching the station, many of the Vulcans fell into healing trances as the shock of life-bonds and familial ties ripped away along with their planet set in. The group's few remaining elders informed the Captain that the only way for their people to recover would be for them to meditate together, each sharing in the wisdom and healing of all their collected fellows.

As soon as the first cargo bay was sufficiently repaired, the captain sealed it off to all but Vulcans. The crew, most of whom were able to empathize with their guests' loss given their own friends' deaths at the hands of the same enemy, supported this idea. The only voice of dissent was that of the CMO, who was often found muttering darkly to himself about "_magic_," "_voodoo_," and "_Vulcan mumbo-jumbo_."

Those who were familiar with his hedgehog-like personality accepted these "complaints" in good grace.

Given the Enterprise's obligatory convalescence, as well as the fact that moving the Vulcans would have been inadvisable given their delicate state, Starfleet conducted their initial inquiry on the station. Captain Pike had woken up in time to rescue the impromptu command crew from the brig, where they had been thrown "pending investigation," and told the investigators in no uncertain terms that they were not to lay another finger on any of his crew or face his wrath.

They avoided all further interactions like the Tarellian plague.

Based on their findings from analysis of interviews, mission logs, recordings, and flight information, Starfleet concluded that all crew members had acted admirably and to the best of their abilities. When Enterprise was finally repaired after two months in the station and was able to fly back to Earth, every crew member was given a commendation and a few crew members - including those on the bridge during the crisis - were given medals and promotions.

Unsurprisingly, the crew had grown close to each other while waiting for repairs to conclude, and the vast majority of them requested to keep their stations on the Enterprise. The newly appointed Captain Kirk personally approved these requests.

And thus came the beginning of an era. Enterprise, the ship of dreams, its crew a hand-selected group of adventurers, young and burdened with glorious purpose, set off between the stars to discover new worlds and new civilizations.

To boldly go where no man has gone before.


	2. Chapter 1

Life in the capital city just before noon was hectic, to say the least. Countless city-dwellers, office workers, and public works personnel left their usual places in search of food, joining the crowds of ravenous schoolchildren and Starfleet cadets just getting out of class. Trains, buses, taxis, and private cars rushed to their various destinations, and shouts rang from business owners trying to promote their wares. The rich smells of Earth-based foods mingled with those of more exotic interplanetary cuisine.

Amidst the chaos walked a man who, by all accounts, appeared perfectly average. He was human, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a sturdy build, and he carried a thick black folder close to his side. His suit and shoes were worn but well cared-for, and his proud bearing suggested something of a military background.

He walked at a leisure pace along with the crowd for several blocks, looking up at the buildings, before finally stopping in front of a modern skyscraper. He took a deep breath, unconsciously clutching his folder closer to his side, before walking up the steps and through the tall glass doors of the Federation News Service.

* * *

**4.5 hours earlier:**

Captain Kirk started awake and jumped out of bed at the sound of klaxons blaring through his quarters. He managed to blearily stumble about a meter before his feet tangled in the sheets and almost sent him falling to the floor, but by bracing himself against the wall he was able to free one foot and catch his balance.

The resulting adrenaline rush from his near-faceplant woke the Captain up enough to take stock of his surroundings. Yes, the klaxons were blaring, but the alert lights were not flashing and no one had commed his quarters to inform him of an emergency.

He was also somewhat bewildered to discover that the sirens' sound was interspersed with Klingon opera and what sounded like cows mooing.

His eyes narrowed when his comm pinged and another sound reached his ears: laughter.

"_Good morning, Kapitan_" he heard after a moment from a suspiciously choked-sounding Chekov, who immediately dissolved into giggles and was unable to continue. The background laughter grew more pronounced, now distinguishable as what sounded like most of the command staff.

Muttering curses, Kirk made his way over to his desk, grabbed a datapad, and typed in a code to stop the alarms. Blessed silence followed, apart from the merry noises still emitting from the comm.

Then the chicken dance started playing. Laughter over the comm reached an entirely new level of hysteria.

"Chekov!" Kirk shouted, and began typing even more furiously into his datapad. Between laughs, Uhura said "_You know, Captain, you should really consider basing your coding system on a language more complex than Ferengi_."

Still cursing his crew's insubordinate behavior, Kirk finally broke through Chekov's coding overwrite ("Seriously, guys? You used Pig Latin?") and shut down the program, putting a little addition at the end that would turn off all the lights on the bridge.

The resulting shocked exclamations and thumps as several people tripped were very satisfying.

Kirk shut down the comm and set his datapad back on the desk. Despite himself, he smiled and shook his head at his friends' antics, grateful that they felt comfortable enough with him to play pranks. Where another captain might have chosen to formally discipline such a blatant disregard for decorum, Kirk preferred poetic justice. Thus, the ongoing prank war.

With an absent order of "Computer, lights," Kirk began preparing for his shift on the bridge. First he straightened the rumpled bedsheets out - despite his reputation, he kept his quarters rather neat - then showered and dressed. He noticed that Spock was already gone, probably to assist with the captain's personal wakeup call, and resolved to come up with a brilliant retribution plan involving hair dye for all of the perpetrators.

He grinned at the thought of Spock with green hair.

Before leaving his quarters, Kirk grabbed an apple from his food stash and munched on it as he walked toward the bridge. Officers and ensigns alike greeted him warmly in the corridors, and he had a friendly chat with a particularly pretty lieutenant in the turbolift.

Meanwhile, the command crew was still trying to figure out how to turn the lights back on.


	3. Chapter 2

Inside the FNS headquarters, the man with the black folder stepped up to the front desk and smiled at the clerk.

"Hello," he greeted quietly. "My name is Andrew Matheson. I'm here for an interview."

The clerk smiled back at him and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "If you're here for a job, you'll want to go to that desk over there." She pointed towards the far corner of the lobby, where suited applicants were apparently checking in. "They'll put your paperwork through, give you an ID badge, then send you to the right floor."

Mr. Matheson shook his head, amused, and said, "No, I meant an interview for the special today. I'm supposed to go on air after lunch, and I thought I might as well get here early." He looked at the line of job hopefuls and snorted, eyes crinkling. "Plus I doubt they would want to hire an old codger like me over one of those sprightly young folks."

The clerk laughed. "Well, in that case, just walk over to the lift and press the button for floor 19. That should take you where you need to go." She paused then, looking confused.

"Oh! Wait a second." She said suddenly, and typed something into a datapad. One of the machines beside her printed off a name badge, and she handed it to Mr. Matheson. "You'll want this, or security might taze you," she said, and smiled brightly.

He smiled back, pinned the visitor's badge onto his suit, and thanked her before heading off to the lifts.

He chose one with no other passengers, and pressed the button for floor 19. As soon as the doors closed, he leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh.

_Am I doing the right thing?_

* * *

**3.5 hours earlier:**

When Kirk stepped out of the turbolift, he almost choked on a piece of apple in glee when he saw that they had still not managed to turn the lights back on. The bridge was lit with only the dim, blue-tinged glow from holos, datapads, and viewscreens.

He made his way carefully to the captain's chair, then sat and spun around until he was facing the comm station, which the bridge crew had apparently designated their base for Operation Get-The-Lights-Back-On. Uhura sat in her chair offering advice to Chekov, who was standing over her typing code into the station, while Spock, Sulu and several junior science officers were all standing in a loose semicircle around the comm station reading code on datapads. One of the group would occasionally look over at another and ask a question, or bounce coding ideas off Chekov, who would type them into Uhura's computer station.

Overall, Kirk found the scene hilarious.

Since no one had noticed his entrance, Kirk decided to have a little fun. After finishing off the apple - core and all - he quietly retrieved a datapad from one of the other stations and hid behind a holo. First, he reversed the codes that had made the lights turn off, resulting in cries of victory from some of the crew and a confused noise from Chekov. Then, before the young navigator could protest that he had done nothing, he turned the big viewscreen onto a recording of attacking Klingon warbirds.

These resulting cries of terror were even more satisfying than those from his earlier prank.

_Two for the Captain, one for the crew_, Kirk thought happily.

He stepped out from behind the holo and casually dropped the datapad onto a convenient chair. The crew's frantic scrambling slowly halted when they observed their perfectly-relaxed captain approach the comm station and put a hand on Uhura's shoulder.

"Computer," he said. "Override code Gamma-Pi-2233." Immediately, the viewscreen switched to a perfectly calm view of the stars, no warbirds visible.

Uhura glared at him and slapped his hand away. "That was mean," she said.

He just grinned, then turned around and clapped his hands together. "Well, now that we're done with pleasantries," he said cheerfully, "let's get down to business. Spock, comm Scotty and tell him to meet us in the conference room. If he's down the pipes again go fish him out. All other senior officers, follow me. Ensign Riley, you have the conn."

Ensign Riley, one of the young science officers who had been in Spock's coding group, scrambled up to the captain's chair, saluted smartly, and sat down. He looked a bit shell-shocked, and blinked repeatedly.

With one final look around the bridge, Kirk stepped into the turbolift along with the other officers. "Don't get too comfortable in that chair, Ensign." He quipped just before the doors closed.

*break*

In the conference room, Kirk sat at one end of the oval table and the others sat around the sides in their preferred order. The space opposite from the captain's, as well as one in the middle, were still empty in Spock and Scotty's absence.

Kirk drummed his fingers over a datapad, playing an old Earth game called Tetris. He was just about to beat Chekov's high score when the door opened and Scotty walked in, followed by Spock.

The sight of his normally-impeccable First Officer's face smudged with engine grease was shocking enough that he misclicked and lost the game.

He blinked up at the pair. "What happened?"

Scotty grimaced and rubbed a grease-smeared ear with an even filthier hand. "Well, ah mighta been down in the pipes working on a, er, a thing." Here the group collectively raised an eyebrow, knowing Scotty's penchant for what he called _inventive_ _engineering_. "And Mr. Spock mighta come in after me. But ahm 'ere now! No need for ye ta get all worked up." He sat down in his seat with finality.

The captain nodded in acceptance. "Well, then. Spock, have a seat and we will begin."

With a few taps on his datapad, Kirk dimmed the lights and sent the relevant report to the room's viewscreen. "This, gentlemen... and lady," he amended when Uhura sent him a glare, "is an article that was published anonymously two weeks ago in one of the most prominent academic journals this side of Klingon space. It's a lovely piece, very thought-provoking, about sentient life forms that have no apparent brain or nervous system. The authors conducted supposedly humane experiments on some of these life forms, testing for reaction to various stimuli, and that is what this article discusses."

He turned in his chair and looked around at the others in the room. "It would have been a perfectly fine study, _if_ conducted legally. Unfortunately, these authors decided to conduct their study on one of the Federation's protected planets, on some of their protected life-forms."

"As you all know, protected planets are not under any circumstances to be visited, explored, or mapped except with the Federation's express permission. Even I would think twice about going to one." Kirk heard amused noises and raised an eyebrow. The noises stopped. He tapped the pad again to change the display.

"I am going to show you a video recording taken about ten years ago by the first team that visited this planet. Note the irregularities in the plants and wildlife." He started the video.

*begin clip*

_A young man in antiquated Starfleet science colors grinned into the camera from the bay of a shuttlecraft. "This is Ensign Arturos, part of the team exploring…" here he paused and looked past the camera. "Hey, Braker, what did they name this planet again? Something like Taggerfoof?" A muffled reply floated through the air. "Oh, that's right," said the ensign. "Tuaregsenufo IX. Supposed to be named after the tribes of some ancient Earth guy." He snorted. "Nutcases. Anyway, we didn't detect any life signs beyond simple plant and insect life, so we are in the clear to collect as many bloody samples as we want without disturbing the locals, 'cause there aren't any." _

_The video skipped forward. The camera was bouncing up and down, apparently being carried by someone who was hiking through thick underbrush. When the person stopped and turned around, the video showed a faint trail leading back to a clearing. Three people carrying boxes of equipment were visible pushing their way through the ferns, and beyond them the sun glinted off a shuttlecraft. One of the three - a woman - looked up when the cameraman shouted "Hey, Sammie! Say cheese!" She glared and replied, "I'll say cheese when hell freezes over, you slacker" then muttered a curse as she hefted her burden higher in her arms. _

_Around them, the trees began swaying. _

_The three scientists on camera stopped walking and looked around, one of them bracing his boxes on a leg and raising a hand to feel for the breeze. There was none. _

_The woman, Sammie, suddenly shrieked and dropped her boxes. "There's something on me!" she shouted, and began frantically shaking her head and combing her hands through her hair. Then another of the three, a man, gasped and dropped his equipment. He quickly stripped off his shirt to show growing welts around his torso. The third man, the one closest to the clearing, quickly threw his burden off to the side when he saw this and grabbed the shirtless man. Together they stumbled back toward the shuttle, leaving the woman and the cameraman. _

_The trees were swaying harder, the sound so loud that it could be heard even over the woman's screams. _

_The camera suddenly fell to the ground as its holder dropped it, and the trail to the clearing was barely visible through two fern leaves. The cameraman, revealed to be the same Ensign Arturos as in the earlier scene, rushed to the woman and slung her over his shoulder before sprinting out of the forest and back to the clearing. Although it was not visible, the video caught the sound of the shuttlecraft's engines powering up and then fading into nothingness. _

_With the scientists gone, the forest slowly grew silent again. Eerily silent. No birds sang, no insects chirped. The breeze was still nonexistent._

_Then the video picked up the sound of leaves shifting. _

_A greenish glow illuminated the scene that unfolded, adding a further air of unreality as dark shadows floated up from the ground. They had no set shape and undulated wildly, joining with the other shadows into larger shadows and then breaking apart into smaller ones. This strange dance continued for several moments until one of the shadows drifted into the camera and the scene erupted into white static._

*end clip*

Kirk turned the video off, undimmed the lights, and spun his chair around to face his crewmates.

Spock and Uhura looked thoughtful, while Chekov looked like he had just watched his first horror film: excited and a little nauseous. The others were just staring at the now-blank viewscreen with expressions of shock.

"You can see why this planet was put under protection," the captain continued quietly. "After a second team went back and retrieved this tape, Starfleet watched it and decided that whatever live forms lived there were best left alone. They had been left apparently untouched for nearly a decade until some unnamed, irresponsible _baktag_ found out about them. Starfleet has ordered us to visit this planet, discover whatever damage the scientists might have done, and try to fix it. They also want us to find out who the scientists are so they can be brought to justice."

The others in the room nodded their understanding.

Sitting up straighter in his chair, Spock asked, "Captain, when does Starfleet intend for us to begin this mission?"

Kirk smiled. "Right now."


	4. Chapter 3

As soon as Mr. Matheson reached floor 19 and checked in at the desk, a group of young women wearing copious amounts of makeup whisked him off to yet another floor. In a small, private room behind the interview stage, they proceeded to brush off his suit, polish his shoes, and apply powder to his face - this presumably to prevent glare in the cameras, or some such nonsense.

After the young women were done with their ministrations, two men entered carrying sound equipment. They attached a small communicator to his suit jacket, and informed him that it would not only act as a microphone, but would also transfer his words into an external translation device.

"Just speak clearly and try not to use a lot of slang, especially words from off-planet" one of the men, whose badge identified him as Phil, suggested with a smile. "The device will relay your words faithfully, but context is a different matter entirely. You don't want to offend an entire species just by using the wrong word, which has happened before."

The other man, who didn't look up from the cord he was fiddling with, cut in. "Remember that poor lady from a few years ago? She was talking about feminism on the core worlds or something, and accidentally used the Orion word for 'strumpet.'"

The men both laughed at the memory.

"Yeah, that was probably the worst public relations nightmare I've ever seen," agreed Phil.

When Mr. Matheson started shifting in place nervously, Phil hurried to reassure him. "You probably don't need to worry about anything, though. The program has gotten better about flagging potentially offensive phrases and such before it broadcasts. Just, as I said, try to avoid foreign slang."

As Phil was finishing, the door opened and a tall, stately woman walked in carrying a clipboard. She stepped up to where the group stood.

"Hello, Mr. Matheson." She said, smiled warmly, and held out her hand. "My name is Abigail. I will be walking you through what will happen during your interview."

Mr. Matheson shook her hand and smiled back. "It's nice to meet you, Abigail. And please, call me Andrew. All this 'Mr. Matheson' left and right is making me feel old."

She smiled again. "If you would prefer, Andrew. Now, why don't we sit down and go over some of the questions? Your interview doesn't start for another half hour, but you can't be too prepared."

The two made their way over to a couch, while Phil and the other man excused themselves.

When they were seated, Abigail began. "A few minutes before we air, I will lead you to a set of stairs by the stage. You will stand there until Caroline, our host, finishes the scripted portion of the show. That should take about five minutes. Then she will say your name, your cue to walk up and shake her hand…"

As Abigail went over the sequence of events, the black folder sat inconspicuously on a table in the center of the room.

* * *

"Ensign, you are relieved. I hope you don't plan to stage a coup to keep that chair: it is rather comfortable, after all." Kirk said as he and the other senior officers stepped out of the turbolift and back onto the bridge.

Ensign Riley jumped up with a start, then stood at attention beside the captain's chair. "No sir!"

"At ease, Ensign." Kirk said as he and the others retook their usual places. "Where's your assigned post today, now that you're done with your little captaincy experience?"

"I'm supposed to be shadowing Captain Spock, sir," the ensign replied. "I'm up for a promotion."

Kirk smiled. "I hope it goes well... Spock! Try not to scare him off the first day!" He shouted over the ensign's shoulder, then whispered into his ear. "I really hope it goes well, Kev. You deserve it. And seriously, ignore Spock: he might be a bit pointy on the outside - pun intended - but he's really just a nice, squishy human on the inside."

The ensign nodded, lips twitching, then stepped over to where Spock was standing after Kirk clapped him gently on the back.

"Mr. Sulu," Kirk said as he turned his chair around. "Set course for the Tuaregsenufo system."

"Aye, Captain. Course laid in, arrival time in approximately 36 hours."

"Punch it."

* * *

**This chapter is shorter than my others, but that is just how continuity worked out this time.**

**Did anyone catch my pop culture references in the prologue? Virtual cookies if you did…**

**Also, shorter breaks will now be denoted by "*break*" because the site sadly does not accept "~~~". :P **


	5. Chapter 4

**I am breaking my rule about not posting notes before chapters. Bad me. *hits head with lamp***

**You will be pleased to hear that this chapter is the longest one yet! Also, since my previous outline seemed to be moving too slow, I sped things up a bit. **

**As always, reviews are appreciated. Flames as well: I find them amusing. **

* * *

After a few minutes, Abigail had left Mr. Matheson alone in the room so she could finish some last-minute preparations with the show's host. Apparently she was Caroline's personal assistant as well as the one who greeted interviewees and made them comfortable.

Before she left, she had directed him over to a small alcove in the wall, home to a miniaturized viewscreen that projected the show live. It was a very strange experience for Andrew, to hear the show through the thin walls of his room, then hear it through the viewscreen with a slight delay.

Before Caroline's part of the program was due to start, the channel had prepared a short, 15-minute documentary to commemorate the date as well as provide a solid introduction to the special.

Andrew found it somewhat stale - relying on facts, statistics, and vague quotes from survivors - and did not think it accurately addressed the true horrors of what happened that day fifteen years before. He felt that a few recovered video clips, interspersed with facts about malnutrition and an animated representation of the changes a starving human body goes through, did not do the thousands of lives lost nearly enough justice.

Additionally, the documentary did not focus primarily on the famine's victims, or the victims of the subsequent massacre, but took a decidedly negative stance against the man responsible for most of the deaths.

Andrew listened to the narrator's conclusion with a vague sense of irritation.

"_Sadly, these thousands of men, women, and children who lie in their graves are only a small portion of the innocents that have been sacrificed in years past, on planet after planet, each group for the sake of a single cause. These catastrophic losses should stand as a message to future generations against following charisma over their own ethical standing._"

The channel switched over to a live stream from two of their regular announcers.

"_Well, that was certainly a tragic and thought-provoking look at the events that began fifteen years ago on Tarsus IV, wasn't it, Vanessa?_" The male announcer asked gravely as he blinked repeatedly, his eyes bright.

The female announcer delicately wiped tears from her face with her sleeve and sniffed. "_Yes, it certainly was, Cal. I don't think we should ever forget._"

At this moment, Abigail walked in. After Andrew grabbed his folder from the table, she quickly ushered him out to the steps at the bottom of the appropriate stage. He could see the two announcers that had just been on his viewscreen on another stage, but the angle was strange and he could see the set's innards: exposed wiring, iron scaffolding behind the standing props, and men adjusting a multitude of cameras. He still felt strange, seeing them and hearing them speak in person.

A shuffling noise to his right caught his attention. Andrew looked over and saw a set of bleachers that stood in the shadows behind the cameramen. A crowd of roughly fifty adults, who had apparently not noticed him, sat watching the two announcers speaking. He clutched his folder tighter. Although Andrew was no stranger to public speaking - becoming an officer in Starfleet necessitated enough speeches, both prepared and impromptu, that one became desensitized after a while - he still retained a reflex anxiety reaction upon seeing his audience.

Suddenly, he heard a voice from the stage closest to him and realized that Caroline must be starting her portion of the show.

The host was a petite, deep-voiced woman in her mid-fifties, with curly brown hair and an acerbic wit. Her show had been at the top of the charts for the past twenty years or so, and she had a reputation for always being unpredictable.

She and Andrew had first met at a press conference nearly a decade before, and had become long-distance friends of a sort. Andrew's position in Starfleet allowed him more opportunities than most to observe interesting phenomena and situations as they played out, and whenever he came across something he thought she would find fascinating, he sent it to her. In return, she pulled favors from her substantial network whenever he needed them. They had bonded over a common dislike of bureaucratic red tape.

Through the haze of memories, he vaguely heard Caroline say, "Now that we're done with all that, please welcome Andrew Matheson to the stage!"

Automatically, he walked up the steps and into the bright stage lights. Being near Caroline grounded him, and he shook her hand as applause broke out in the shadows.

"It's lovely to see you again, Caroline," he said warmly.

Caroline grinned "You as well, Andrew."

She continued shaking his hand.

"Um…" He said as he tried to gently extricate his hand from hers. Behind them, the applause tapered out and was replaced by laughter.

Caroline finally released his hand, but grabbed his forearm and began pulling him over to the interview area. "Well, now that I've _finally_ gotten you over here for an interview, I don't want to waste a single moment of it."

She pushed Andrew into one of the oversized armchairs, then sat in her own. He placed his folder on the small table between them.

"Now that introductions are over, Andrew, let's talk a little bit about what brought you here." Her voice took on a more serious note. "We've known each other for years, and you are responsible for tipping me off to some of my best stories… yet this is the first time you have agreed to come forward for an interview. Why is that?"

Andrew looked down at his feet, then back up at Caroline with a sigh. "My sister died," he said.

The host nodded in understanding. "Could you tell me a little more about that? How did your sister's death bring you here, today of all days?"

Clasping his hands tightly in front of him, Andrew leaned forward so that his arms rested on his legs. "Well, I might as well start at the beginning, over fourteen years ago. I was here on Earth, running a long-distance intelligence operation from Starfleet Headquarters. My rank at that time was Captain. My sister, Karen, was a Lieutenant working in the USS Yorktown's medical division…"

* * *

After only half an hour of sitting in his chair, Captain Kirk felt like he would explode with pent-up energy. He had tried to while away the hours by doing paperwork, which he finished within the first ten minutes, reading that week's reports, which took him less than five minutes, and finally playing games on his datapad, which had worked longer than all of his other attempts at occupying himself.

That was, until every new score he made exceeded the previous one by a significant margin and he lost interest.

He bounced his datapad from palm to palm for a minute, thinking, then abruptly stood up and dropped the offending object into his chair. From there, he began making his way around the bridge from station to station, correcting, encouraging, and flirting alternately with each person he encountered.

He finally reached Uhura's station, where she was translating routine Starfleet communiques into Standard.

As he walked up behind her chair, she didn't even look up. "Don't even think about it, Captain."

"Think about what?" He asked innocently.

She raised an eyebrow, still without lifting her eyes from her datapad. "You do realize that my overprotective lump of a half-Vulcan boyfriend is standing just over there, watching your every move? I guarantee, you will regret anything even remotely _resembling_ a romantic advancement, even with how well you and Spock have been getting along."

Kirk sniffed in mock disappointment. "Well, I guess I'll just have to make do by helping you with your work, then, _Uhura_." He sat down beside her station and held a hand out. "Here, hand me one of those datapads."

She finally looked up, raising her other eyebrow. "_You _are going to help me translate these transmissions," she asked, deadpan. "Which are in every language known to man, and which are mostly shipping manifests and obscure legislative regulations? And you are doing this to _avoid _being bored?"

He just blinked at her. "Yes."

Uhura rolled her eyes and swiveled the chair around so she could grab another datapad. "Don't say I didn't warn you," she said as she swiveled back and handed it to him.

The captain just grinned. "Let's have a contest. Your Ferengi shipping manifests against mine, first one done translating, say, fifty, owes the other three days' worth of replicator rations."

Uhura looked thoughtful for a moment, then said with a devious smile, "Make it 'loser takes winner's next three bridge shifts,' _then_ I will play."

Kirk narrowed his eyes. "You're on."

*break*

If anyone had hailed the Enterprise in the few hours following Kirk and Uhura's challenge, they would have been greeted with a rather odd sight: the ship's captain sitting on the floor knee-to-knee with his communications officer, each of them rapidly looking from one datapad to another, reading from one and typing on the other.

Uhura had moved to the floor along with Kirk just a few minutes after they began, both to prevent him from crying foul due to variables such as a comfy chair, and also to prevent her boyfriend from accusing Kirk of dishonoring her. Her skirt was rather short, after all, and not the best item of clothing to wear when seated in a chair above someone.

Until each of them had amassed a pile of datapads roughly equal in size, the rest of the bridge crew had been content to leave the two to their game. When they were each down to their last five transmissions, however, translating at an apparently equal rate, some of the others began drifting over to watch. Two groups formed: one behind Kirk, and one behind Uhura, and rapidly the tension grew so thick as to be nearly tangible.

When both contestants reached for their second-to-last datapads at exactly the same time, the two groups gasped and spontaneously broke into quiet cheers. As the two continued reading and typing, the noises grew louder and louder until, finally, chanting broke out.

Each group cheered on their chosen contender, heedless of noise or decorum, and when the two reached their last datapads, Kirk several seconds behind Uhura, even Spock drifted over to observe what could cause such loud noises of delight, or disappointment in some cases.

Finally, _finally_, both threw down their last datapads.

Uhura just a few seconds behind Kirk.

The noise was deafening, such as one might find in a football stadium. People slapped each other on the back and congratulated their companions, or gave condolences to the competition…

...all for the sake of translating Ferengi shipping manifests.

Kirk watched all the activity, slightly overwhelmed. He shared a look with Uhura, who was still sitting knee-to-knee with him.

_If everyone is this bored already, it is going to be a _very _long trip._

*break*

By the time activity on the bridge settled again to a manageable level, it was time for lunch.

Beta shift officers came to relieve Alpha shift officers, while everyone else on Alpha shift - mostly NCOs who had a 6-hour shift on the bridge instead of the COs' 4-hour shift - stayed behind to regale the Beta shift with tales of dramatic, victorious conquests.

With one exception.

As he and the other officers were about to send the turbolift down to the mess hall, Kirk thought of something and turned around, putting his foot in the door to stop it from closing.

"Ensign Riley! Come over here for a moment." Kirk called. The ensign jerked, then hurried over to the lift and stood awkwardly just outside.

Kirk asked, "You are supposed to be shadowing Spock today, right?"

"Yes, sir."

Stepping aside to make more room at the doorway, Kirk said, "Well, come with us, then. You might as well shadow him to the mess hall: it's not like any of those jokers on Beta shift can teach you anything."

"Hey!" came an indignant shout from behind Ensign Riley.

The ensign smiled slightly, then stepped into the turbolift. "Thank you, Captain."

* * *

**I feel like my dialogue is somewhat lacking, but maybe it's just me. Do you have any suggestions? Complaints? Compliments?**


End file.
